Death on the Coast by M Comley (best book recommendations TXT) 📗

came to her in full faith for advice. “I’ve had the feeling that Angie knew whoever was responsible for her murder.”

Lucy nodded. She remembered the look in Angie’s eyes, and although she thought it was her imagination, Jenny’s comment made her think twice. “We’ll figure it out, don’t you worry,” she said loudly as she patted Jenny’s hand.

Pauline Whittaker, who ran the local pub named I’m Not Here with her husband, Frank, rose from the group of women at another table and headed back to the counter to get a coffee refill. She was often at Sal’s Sweets in the mornings before she and her husband opened up for the evening trade. She stopped behind Jenny, one chubby hand on Jenny’s shoulder while she balanced her fresh cup of brew in the other. Pauline’s mottled blonde hair, the result of too many shades of at-home kits, was pinched into a barrette on the back of her head. “I don’t know…” she began, glancing at Lucy while also including Jenny in the conversation. “From what I hear, Angie and her daughter were on the outs. No one would say why but, in my line of work, I’ve learned it’s generally money.”

Lucy didn’t bother to point out that most of what was said in I’m Not Here was done under the influence of a substantial amount of alcohol. Instead, she nodded her thanks to Pauline for the input, who then moved on.

“So, what I’m getting is that maybe Angie had more enemies than I ever realized,” Lucy admitted to Jenny.

“It would seem so. I’m still seeing that it was someone she knew, though. For what it’s worth. Well, I’m headed home. They say that nor’easter will be making its way up the coast, and I have some things to batten down.” She smiled sweetly. “Takes me a little longer than most.”

“Bye now,” Lucy called after her retreating chair. “If you need help, give me a holler. I’ll send Mark over. He’d be glad to lend a hand.”

Jenny lifted her hand in a wave over her shoulder as someone held the door open for her to leave.

Lucy noticed the door remained open, and she rose from her chair to close it, thinking the wind or a faulty hinge was holding it open. Before she got to it, a shadow fell over the doorway. A man walked in—a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond, wavy hair that flopped over one eye.

She’d never seen him before and stepped back quickly. “Sorry, I thought the door was caught,” she apologized and then wondered why she’d done that.

He slipped a cap off his head and smiled. Lucy’s heart jumped. He looked like a man who belonged on a bottle of men’s cologne.

“Dewhurst, Greg Dewhurst is the name. I’m looking for someone who might have known Angie Potter.”

“I-I did,” Lucy stuttered. The rest of the bakery fell silent. Knitting needles no longer clacked, and two women slid half-eaten donuts beneath napkins. “How can I help you?”

He surveyed the room and then pointed his chin toward the table where she’d been sitting. “Mind if we sit down?”

“No, of course not, that is… I’m already sitting there.”

“Let me get myself a cup of java, and I’ll join you,” he said, his voice rich and velvety.

Lucy quickly retreated to her seat and watched him from the corner of her eye. She liked the way his hands and fingers were huge and masculine, the way he smiled politely to the overwhelmed Sal who could barely get out the flavors of donuts she had. He turned and joined Lucy with his food. She noted the cleft in his chin when he smiled and nearly melted onto the floor.

Greg’s gaze ran over her petite frame and leaned forward to speak to her. “I appreciate you for taking the time to talk to me.” He pulled out the chair and settled in.

Lucy noticed he took his coffee black. Naturally.

“I wanted to find someone who knew her, my Angie.”

His words clicked in Lucy’s brain, and she sat up straighter. “You knew her?”

He smiled, his expression one of sadness, the muscled cords in his neck helping to push the deep bass of his voice out into the open. “Know her? Loved her is more like it.”

“Oh. Really? I never heard her mention you.”

He chuckled. “That would be my Angie. Never was one to tell the world. Yes, ma’am.” He stared down at his cup. “We’ve known one another for years, but it was only the past few months that we became…well, shall we say…close.”

Lucy quickly slipped off her wedding ring. She frowned. “You’re not from around here, though.”

“No, ma’am. I live on my boat and stick to the coast. South in the winter…well, you get it. Angie was my summer gal. Stayed with me on the Angie. Hell, I even named it after her.”

“Really? Well, I can tell you this comes as a surprise to me, and probably to most of the village. How did you hear? It was so recent.”

“Christine called me. I’ve got a base station on board.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

Lightheaded, Lucy said, “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry. Christine knew about you, then?”

He took a sip of the black brew in his cup, the glint of a gold crown on his eyetooth glinting in the morning sunlight. “She did that.”

Lucy wasn’t sure how to continue, so she went with the obvious. “I assume you’re staying for her service?”

Greg nodded.

“Do you need a place to stay? We have a spare room.”

He shook his head. “Thank you, and I’m obliged, but I’ll stay aboard and then help Christine get her mother’s affairs straightened out before leaving.”

A sense of relief flowed through her. Not about Greg leaving, but that someone more adult would be in charge of the necessities. She guessed him to be in his late thirties, early forties.

“Yes, of course. You know, it suddenly occurred to me that I don’t know if Angie had any other family besides Christine. Cousins